Drip ... Drizzle ... Drops

A rainy day and much wind. Wheather making you sulk. Like Elisabeth - as in the Serenade named after her - I looked through the window.
Not waiting for my prince on the white horse, but on my muse of inspiration. For my daily blip.
The wind cheered its bold song and blew the drizzle to tiny clouds with drops. The drops fell on the leaves moving back and forth and rolled to the ground. A grey and dreary scene.
Closer consideration showed unexpected light, light in the drops ... And suddenly there was my muse. She patted me on my shoulder.
"In the drip is your blip." She happily nodded ...
There was beauty; drip, drizzle and drops changed ... The grey, drizzled scene changed in a treasure chest of purely brilliant pearls of light ... Lucky me!

In Elisabeth's Serenade, on the contrary, there's not such a happy end. The prince of her dreams never appeared. Lonely she passed away from a time that never existed ...